


Sincere Apologies

by skarletfyre



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 08:36:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4912615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarletfyre/pseuds/skarletfyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soldier is being very helpful on the battlefield lately. For Spy, this is a disaster. But, perhaps there are benefits to teamwork after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sincere Apologies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [viperbooty](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=viperbooty).



“ _Spy!”_

_No,_ Spy thought, without turning or evening slowing his step. _Not now._

The RED Medic was right in front of him. A few more steps, a little more momentum, and he would be in arm's reach. Another step and he would be dead.

“Spy, look out!”

Spy did not get to take another step.

The rocket hit the overhealed RED Heavy and did exactly what Spy didn't want it to do: slowed him down. The Heavy faltered with a grunt, not injured in the slightest but still staggered by the impact. Behind him, his Medic drew up short to avoid running into the man and Spy, on his toes in the middle of throwing his weight forward, had absolutely no time to recover. The following chain of events could only be described as embarrassing.

He slammed into the RED Medic, and his disguise as the RED Pyro fell in a puff of smoke. The Medic cried out in alarm, and then anger. The doctor whipped around and elbowed him hard in the chest, and Spy's knife went flying out of his hand. The Heavy realized what was up and began to turn around. Spy was reaching for his revolver when the barrel of the minigun began to spin up. And finally, thanks to the miniscule amount of damage Soldier had been able to inflict to the overhealed Heavy, the Übercharge meter ticked full and crackled to life.

The last things Spy saw was a muzzle flash and a near blinding explosion of blue. He woke up in Respawn, all the way on the other side of the map.

And he was furious.

This had been going on for a week. At lease once a day, three times at worst, he would be in the middle of something important, either a backstab or an intel grab, and everything would be going fine until _he_ showed up. Screaming his head off in a garbled battle cry or warning, his own team's Soldier would swoop in and spoil everything.

At first Spy could have dismissed it as bad timing. He was irritated by the stolen kills or blown covers, but had no reason to think that it was anything other than unfortunate coincidence. But that was before Soldier began literally calling out to him, by _name,_ at the absolute worst possible times.

First there was the unassuming Sniper, ripe for the killing, who Soldier tipped off by rocket jumping past the window, _waving,_ and shouting out a cheerful, “Hello, crouton!”

The Sniper turned around and ran him through with his ridiculous kukri before Spy even had time to process what had happened.

Next came the distracted RED Engineer, already on his toes thanks to the BLU Demo, with his back turned at the wrong moment. The little man was turning just as Spy was about to sap his sentry and Soldier, who was inexplicably in the area, called out for Spy to watch his back. The enraged Engineer came at him with a wrench. It was through pure skill that Spy managed to dodge the man and get behind him, tricking his own sentry into taking him out.

Of course, the sentry then took out Spy as well.

Then there was the incident with the briefcase.

Spy had his hands on it. He had his fingers wrapped around the handle, he was nearly in the clear when the RED Scout ran in. To him, it would have looked like nothing was out of the ordinary. The RED Demoman was leaning on the intel desk, looking bored while he waited for an enemy to blow up. The boy was just about to leave when _Soldier,_ who of all people had absolutely _no business_ being that deep inside the enemy stronghold, skidded to a stop in the doorway and looked quickly between the two startled “RED” teammates.

“What are you waiting for, froglegs?” he said, looking directly at a mortified Spy. “Scared of getting a little blood on your suit?”

The Scout caught on faster than Spy would have thought, and the next thing he saw was the face full of buckshot sending him to Respawn. Soldier got the Scout, and managed to get the intelligence out into the yard, and the match inevitably ruled in their favourite, but that was beside the point. It was the principle of the thing.

And yet it kept happening.

No matter where he went or what he did, Spy found himself looking over his shoulder waiting for his own team's Soldier to come along and blow his cover. Which he inevitably did. Again and again, without fail. And Spy tolerated it at first, because it was only affecting him.

But _this?_

Interrupting a perfect backstab on an unsuspecting, nearly fully charged Medic and Heavy pair? This was outrageous. This was inexcusable. Soldier had not only blown Spy's cover and cost him his life, but his own life as well, and he had practically handed the enemy the push that was currently allowing them to tear through what was left of BLU's defenses. Their Engineer was a sitting duck, as was Scout, who had only just made it into enemy territory. With those two out there, he had no way to safely get back. This was too much. This was a step too far.

When Soldier popped into Respawn beside him a moment later, shortly followed by the Administrator announcing that they had lost the battle, Spy was fuming. He had _had_ it.

“Soldier!” he shouted, attracting the man's attention. Spy was practically shaking with rage, his hands balled into tight fits as his sides. Despite the tone and body language, Soldier responded with all the enthusiasm of an excitable puppy.

“Yessir!” he said, bounding over with that horrible crooked smile shining beneath the rim of his helmet. Spy grabbed the front of his jacket with both hands and shook him.

“How dare you,” Spy hissed, and only then did Soldier's expression falter slightly. “You are a fucking _imbecile!”_

“Sir?”

“Don't you _sir_ me, do not speak as though you have even the most basic understanding of the word “respect.””

Soldier's mouth was hanging open when Engineer materialized into Respawn beside them. The Texan took one look at the pair of them and put his hands on his hips.

“Now what the hell is goin' on here?”

“He has cost us the match, again!” Spy cried, jabbing an accusatory finger into the baffled Soldier's chest. He rounded on the man one more. “Do you even have any idea what you've done? Can you see anything beyond the inside of that helmet? I don't know why you bother to wear the thing, as it appears your skull is thick enough to repel rockets as well as common sense.”

“Now hold on,” Engie said, frowning. “What exactly did Soldier do?”

“He is interfering with my work!” Spy screeched, just as the door opened and the rest of their defeated team began to file in, staring curiously at the scene before them. Spy paid them no mind. His rage was singularly focused on the helmeted man before him. “He is interfering with _everything!_ I had their Medic! I had him within my grasp moments before they overran the point, I could have saved us had this- this patriotic buffoon not come sailing through the air and _called out to me_ as he allowed the RED Heavy to be charged! We lost the match thanks to his actions!”

Of course it would be Scout leaping to the man's defense.

“Spy, man, c'mon, you're bein' a little harsh, he was just tryna help-”

“He is a stupid oaf and I am tired of him and his _help,”_ Spy said flatly, to the astonishment of everyone. “He is not helping. He is not a soldier, and I will not put up with this charade any longer. Whatever good he may do for this team, making noise and soaking up bullets so that the rest of us may do our jobs without interruption, is vastly overshadowed by his overwhelming incompetence and inability to understand even the most simple of concepts, and now he is not even good enough for that. I am _through.”_

With that, he shoved Soldier roughly away from him. The man staggered back, what was visible of his face slack with confusion and hurt. He looked around at the others. Engineer, Scout, and Demo met his helmeted gaze with pity in their eyes, but the rest of the team simply turned away uncomfortably. Spy wasn't entirely wrong. He felt a sort of cruel vindication as the walking helmet looked to each man for support and found only silent unease. He took one last look at the smirking Spy, then turned on his heel and marched out of the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

As soon as he was gone, Engineer thwacked Spy on the arm with the back of his hand.

“You didn't have to say that to him.”

“It is the truth.”

“It was mean, Spy. Particularly about him not bein' a real soldier.”

“That is _especially_ true.”

Engineer's frown became more pronounced.

“That don't make it right and you know it. Scout's right. He's just trying to help.”

“By doing what?” Spy asked incredulously, reaching inside his jacket for his cigarette case. “Stalking me? Stealing my kills? He has meddled enough to start affecting my pay check, _Labourer,_ and that is one insult I will not stand for. It's bad enough he's making me look like an invalid on the field. It's worse that he's getting paid _my money_ to do so.”

“Have you considered he might be trying to impress you?”

Spy nearly choked on his cigarette. He stared at the shorter man and his apparently serious expression.

“Why on earth would he want to do that?”

“All you do is talk shit about him,” Scout offered, tossing his headset haphazardly into his locker.

“Ye haven't said a kind word to him since ye met,” Demo said with a frown of his own. “He knows ye don' like him.”

“I should hope so,” Spy said, with an indifferent sniff. “The man is a pig. And no amount of military jargon will cover the fact that he does not belong here. You may continue to put up with him, but I will not. I wash my hands of him.”

Engineer simply looked at him a moment longer before he shook his head and walked away, heading to his own locker to unload after a long day. Everyone else remained blissfully silent as they removed their own gear. Medic looked briefly back over his shoulder at Spy as he and Heavy headed out, but Spy waved him away. He didn't a fellow to commiserate with. What he needed was a glass of wine and an aspirin.

He left the Resupply Room with a cloud of smoke in his wake and did not reappear until dinner. Soldier did not attend.

 

* * *

 

A week had passed since the confrontation, and Spy had never felt better.

His scores were back up. His pay was higher than it had been in months. He was having fun again, causing mayhem from the shadows without interruption. He was making like a living hell for the enemy Engineer and Sniper by allowing himself to get creative with his kills, no longer worried about looking over his shoulder for any screaming Americans to come falling from the sky. It was wonderful.

Never mind that his own team was tiptoeing around him, shooting furtive glances in his direction whenever he entered a room uncloaked. He'd caught them muttering more than once, but nothing they had to say was worth sticking around to overhear. They were, of course, speaking about Soldier.

One could almost forget he was there with how quiet he was being. Silent and solemn, on and off the battlefield, Soldier had undergone an entire personality shift. He had ceased his six A.M. wake up calls. He spoke only when spoken to, and even then only in grunts and one word responses. He hadn't rocket jumped at all in the last seven days, nor had he called anyone “maggot.” His score average had dropped dramatically, but there was no denying that everyone else's was on the rise. Except for Medic. His scores seemed to have plateaued, but he had yet to be heard complaining about it.

Truthfully, Spy was beginning to feel as though had taken it a bit far.

It was obvious that his words had been the catalyst for this change in Soldier's demeanor. His shouting fit in the locker room _was_ rather harsh, in hindsight, but until now he had assumed Soldier would simply get over it and snap back to his usual boisterous self with twice his usual volume and energy. That had not happened.

Engineer was becoming intolerable.

“Just go and talk to him,” the Texan prompted every time he caught Spy glancing in the other American's direction. “The sooner you apologize, the easier it'll be.”

“I do not _want_ to apologize,” Spy told him, with all the petulance of a child, creating a defensive cloud of lingering smoke around himself. “Nothing I said was incorrect.”

“There's a different between “incorrect” and “wrong,” Spy. You need to say you're sorry. You owe him that much.”

Spy was sure that he owed Soldier absolutely nothing at all, but that didn't stop the rest of the team from shooting him dirty looks. It wasn't until Pyro allowed him to burn to death, right in front of them with a full tank of air, that his resolve began to crumble.

He found Soldier out in the yard, wearing a tank top in the rain.

“Rain” was a bit of a strong word. It was drizzling. It was a cold and damp and Spy wanted very much to go back inside. But he had a job to do.

Soldier sat on a mossy stump, kicking his feet and scribbling something in a little pocket notebook. He still wore that ill-fitting helmet, but Spy could see the sandy, close-cropped hair beneath it at the back of his neck. He tried for a moment to make out exactly what it was the American was writing but quickly gave up. He approached uncloaked and cleared his throat.

“Good day, Soldier,” Spy said formally.

Soldier grunted.

Spy had not planned much beyond this point. He stared into the middle distance, somewhere above the bobbing top of Soldier's helmet, and took a deep breath.

“It has come to my attention that I may have been a little harsh with you when we spoke last week.” This was putting it mildly. Inwardly, Spy maintained that he was blameless. “I understand that I may have hurt your feelings, and that an apology is in order. _”_

Soldier did not grunt. He kept scribbling in his little notebook, not even lifting his head. Spy resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Engineer was right. It was best to simply get this over and done with so that things could go back normal. Never mind that “normal” was terrible and loud and unpredictable, and smelled bad, and had a habit of eating leftovers that should have been thrown out weeks ago. This was necessary. A necessary evil.

“I am... _sorry.”_

Soldier's pen stopped moving.

For a long moment there was only silence, the gentle drumming of light raindrops falling all around them. The midday was overhead, glinting through the cloud cover, making the raindrops glimmer on Soldier's bare arms and shoulders. Spy decided not to be distracted by this detail.

“Do you really think all those things about me?” Soldier asked suddenly, in the softest voice Spy had ever heard him use. He was caught off guard.

“What?”

“Do you think I'm an imbecile not even good enough to soak up bullets for the rest of you? You think I'm an incompetent pig, and not a real soldier who doesn't belong here?”

Hearing his words repeated, by the very person he had used them against, gave Spy a new perspective on the matter. He _had_ been rather mean, hadn't he?

“I... _non,_ Soldier. I do not think all those things about you,” Spy said awkwardly. He believed _some_ of them, but now was not the time. He'd hurt the man's feeling enough. “I should not have spoken to you that way.”

“Then why did you?”

The sudden sharpness of the American's tone surprised him as much as the softness. Soldier lifted his head finally, and would have been staring Spy straight in the eye of not for the helmet still covering half his face, his broad chin jutting out from beneath it in a pout.

“I was angry,” Spy said defensively. “How could I not have been, with your behavior?”

“My behavior,” Soldier repeated flatly.

“Yes, your behavior. You have been very... _frustrating_ to work with, Soldier. Calling out to me, rocket jumping close enough to me that the blast disrupts my cloak, attacking my targets when I am _clearly_ about to dispatch them. I do not know if you meant to do these things, or if was all just once big coincidence with you in the wrong place at the wrong time and I-”

“I meant to do them.”

Spy stopped. He stared, nostrils flaring as he collected himself, at the battered surface Soldier's helmet.

“Why?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

Spy had no response to that. He had nothing prepared to anticipate such a reply. Soldier continued without prompting.

“You are the Spy. Nobody likes Spies and nobody trusts them, and nobody helps you because you are one. Even though you are on our team. I disagree with that methodology and have decided to act on that disagreement. You are a member of this team and an American just like everybody else, and you deserve to have another American watching your back and looking out for. I have assigned myself to be that American. I care about you.”

Spy's eyebrows shot up.

“You _care_ about me?” he said, his voice coming out much higher than he would have liked. Soldier immediately stiffened.

“Your well-being,” he clarified, though there was a stubborn set to his jaw. “As a member of this team. My team. I care about all my teammates. Which you are one of. A teammate. Of mine. That I care about, indistinguishably from the care I have for other members of this team. Maggot.”

Oh.

Well, that was just...

_Oh._

Spy had not predicted this. Did Soldier... _like_ him? Was that what this was? It certainly sounded like it, through the jumble of jingoism and misplaced national identity. Soldier was attempting to keep Spy from harm because he cared about him. How absolutely ridiculous.

And yet Spy was completely disarmed by it.

It had been a very long time since someone professed to care for him, truthfully or otherwise, and he doubted that Soldier lacked the temperament necessary for such lies. Which meant he was being honest. Sweetly, alarmingly honest.

And Spy had shouted at him and called him names in front of all their colleagues.

_Merde._

There Soldier sat and there Spy stood with the rain drizzling down on them, the silence dragging on between them longer and longer. Spy knew he should say something. Ask for more explanation, or apologize more profusely for his words, but none of the words coming to mind seemed good enough.

Spy stepped forward.

Soldier was tense as his personal space was invaded, but he didn't make any move to pull away as Spy stepped carefully between his knees. With one gloved finger, he reached up and tilted Soldier's helmet up, revealing the broad bridge of his nose, the flushed, pink tops of his cheeks, and finally his eyes. Blue, Spy noted with interest, and wide open. Soldier looked like a deer in the headlights. Briefly, Spy wondered if he was making a mistake.

But when he leaned in, slowly and deliberately to make plain his intentions, Soldier did not push him away. He pressed his thin lips against Soldier's full, surprisingly soft ones, and allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Just for a moment.

“Your concern is appreciated,” Spy murmured, a moment before he drew away. He lowered his hand and Soldier's helmet tipped back to cover his face. It did not, however, cover his smile.

Spy smiled as well, and then began walking back toward the base.

This had been a most enlightening talk after all. Perhaps he should apologize more often.

 


End file.
